Dare

chic_geek

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 10/01/2006
Last Updated: 30/01/2006
Status: in_progress

Inspired by the French film “Love Me If You Dare,” this story is about a secret game that Harry and Hermione play from childhood through adulthood. In this game, they dare each other to do things, and what starts as innocent fun transcends into something more consuming, complicated, and destructive as their friendship transforms into a consuming, but all too hidden, love in the background.

Chapters

1. Prologue

2. Halloween

3. Dare # 1

4. Dare # 108

5. Dare # 420

1. Prologue

Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: As always, please read and review. Constructive criticisms are always welcome. I hope you enjoy this, however, a word of warning though - this is not your typical love story. Other than that, happy reading!

Whenever I hear the song “What A Wonderful World”, I cannot help but look back into my less than `wonderful past.' The feeling is nostalgically painful - it reminds me of my childhood, of Aunt Petunia humming that haunting song while I sit in bed, staring at the cracks on the floor below me, wondering what exactly a wonderful world is. I may be young but I'm not bloody stupid. Children aren't supposed to live in cupboards nor are they to act as substitute punching bags for a stupid wanker of a cousin, yet I have no choice. So, at an early age, I already knew the opposite of wonderful. And it is for this reason that the song fails to make me realize what exactly is wonderful about the world.

Many years later, I will go back again and again to this question, trying hard to come up with an answer, to no avail. The irony of course is that my world, to unstoppable prying eyes, is perfectly wonderful - from the scar in my forehead, to my name, to the crispness of my tie, to the gleam of my robes, to the shine of my leather patented shoes, to the flock of stellar women that grace my arms. And yet, clichéd as this may sound, despite the fame, the money, the women, and the perfection that is my life, it still isn't wonderful. It sill doesn't feel wonderful. It never is wonderful.

Never because behind that façade is the exact opposite. Behind that façade is a broken man. And while I'm not exactly sure whether the brokenness is the product of just one thing or an amalgamation of everything that's happened to me - I'm the perfect case study, after all - I know for a fact that she's the reason, or at least, one of the reasons for the brokenness, for the emptiness.

But I don't care. I don't care at all. I no longer care for brokenness or for emptiness because for the first time in my life, I now know what a `wonderful world' truly means. It's not about the fame or the money or the power or whatever else you may attach to what the world constitutes as `wonderful.' Wonderful can never be defined into one logical, all encompassing answer. Wonderful is what is wonderful to you.

And, pray, you ask, what does a `wonderful world' mean to me?

Well, tasting her lips and holding her in my arms for eternity is my answer.

Impossible? No. Mad? Yes.

Do I care?

To hell with it, to hell with everything else. We finally have each other, and we will never let go, mad as it may sound, mad as we may be.

Twenty years have passed since that day, and we're finally together, like we're supposed to be right from the very beginning. Twenty years since we first made that pact, twenty years since we first played that game.

Twenty years since we became friends. Twenty years since the promise to always pull each other out of trouble, after that fateful Halloween. Twenty years since I first told her that one simple word, dare.

Twenty odd years of happiness, of sadness, of anger, of passion, of hurt, of confusion, of pleasure, of friendship, of jealousy, of everything in between, and of love, especially. Twenty years of fleeting in and out of each other's lives, strangers one second, best friends the other, and lovers always.

Lovers always, despite the fact that we've spent twenty years denying the palpable truth.

We're bloody mad, we're bloody insane, but that's love. And nothing, nothing will ever tear us apart again.

This time, we promised, this will last for eternity.

-->

2. Halloween

Part 1: Innocent

Chapter 1: Halloween

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the reviews. I really appreciate it, and please continue as it really motivates me to finish the story! :-p Anyway, if you haven't seen the movie, “Love Me If You Dare”, rent it at your nearest video store! But once again, a word of warning, it's not for everyone's taste. I won't give away much, but let me say this, love and romance isn't always fluff. It's far from fluff. Nothing's perfect - but don't let that detract you from love! Hee hee. Other than that, enjoy reading this chapter! Oh, and one last thing, I'm still not quite sure how long this is going to be, but I have to say it's probably going to be more than six chapters (which is my usual).

*******

Halloween, the 31st of October, whatever you wish to call it, is forever etched on my mind as one of the most sacred of all holidays, not because I worship the dead or because I'm a glutton for sweets, but because that was the day we first became friends. Now, the fact that I remember the day we became friends is something very unique - you see, I don't remember the exact days when I became friends with everybody else. And I do not say that to sound mean, but rather, I say that to show how different the circumstances were and are between us. Sure, I understand Ron far better than I understand her, but that's because we're men. But looking at it in another way, I know her more than I know Ron. And that makes all the difference in the world.

You may argue however that the reason I remember that particular day is because of the fact that I, for one, fought with a vicious troll. And I'm not denying that. In all probabilities, that's the most likely reason why that day is firmly entrenched in the deepest recesses of my mind. Still, that doesn't explain why I know her better than everyone else despite the fact that I don't understand her all that much. And I won't even try to answer that. There are, you see, a lot of unexplainable things in the world, and to know the answers to everything is futile. That's why I just let it go. That's why I do not act in the most rational of all ways.

You want to know something else?

She's irrational too. The queen of all rationality is actually irrational deep inside. Behind that amazing mind is madness. Madness, italicized, capitalized, emphasized. Behind that mind is madness because there is no way in the world that she'll participate in such a game.

But then again, it all started out innocently, just like everything else does. It was just a game. A game that children play, it was no worse than hopscotch or tag. We weren't going to get hurt, it was all play and fun and nothing else. And it was easy, there was only one rule: whoever has the quill has the power to dare the other to do something. The rule does not force you to take on the dare, but a couple of things do - friendship, pride, courage, the need to prove something, and so on and so forth.

How it came about however, was not so innocent. It was Voldemort that was to blame. If not for his madness, then this would have never happened. So, insane as this may sound, I'm thankful for Voldemort too—he brought us together, her and me, and this proved to be his undoing.

His troll met its demise and I met Hermione. And when the professors all came rushing to the scene of the action, there was already an unspoken agreement between us. And when accusations began to fill the room, a quill fell out from my pocket and rolled towards her.

I looked at her and she looked at me. And in that brief second, I begged, I pleaded, I dared her to please save me, save us from this trouble. And she did. With such resoluteness, and to my great surprise, she twisted the whole story to save me. And Ron. But that's a different story.

You can say that we saved each other then. And that was the pact, the silent, unspoken, yet all pervasive pact that will continue to haunt us, for better or for worse.

And the game, the game was the result of that pact. That one dare evolved to a full-blown tradition that would last twenty years. And how it remained a secret, and why it remained a secret between us is beyond my comprehension. Maybe we just wanted something special, maybe we just had nothing to do, or maybe, just maybe, we didn't want to let go of each other, and the dare, the dare served that special purpose.

*******

“Harry, thank you,” she says, with such simplicity and much sincerity. He tries to reply back, he tries to tell her to thank Ron too, but he doesn't get the chance. She continues,

“And Ron too, tell Ron thank you too.”

He gives her a nod. Once again, they remain silent as they walk down the quiet corridors back to the common room. He wonders how Ron's doing, Percy, a couple of minutes earlier, came over to check on his brother. Where they were now, he doesn't know.

They reach the Fat Lady. The portrait looks back down at them, and in a slightly elitist tone, she asks,

“Password?”

“Fang's Tooth,” Harry mumbles. The door swings open, but not before the Fat Lady says,

“Don't mumble next time, my dear.”

Hermione gives a giggle as she makes her way inside. He cannot help but smile.

When the door closes, she turns to him again.

“I guess, we're friends then?” She asks, a bit hesitantly. This time he looks at her; really looks at her. And for once, he notices the uncertainty in her eyes. And right there and then, he feels it. They're both outsiders, and that, above anything else is what really draws him to her.

So he gives her a smile, a real, genuine smile that creases the side of his eyes, and he says,

“Yes, of course.”

She smiles back, and he notices that the uncertainty is gone. But the connection remains.

“I guess, we'll be saving each other the next time then?” He asks, jokingly. She gives a laugh, and she nods her head, and says,

“Definitely.”

And then she stops. She looks at him with such seriousness as she searches the pockets of her robe for something.

A quill.

“Here,” she says, handing him the quill.

He looks at her with confusion. She notices this, and she says,

“You probably think it's silly, but that's just a simple thank you—”

“Hermione, you don't have to give me anything,” he cuts in.

“Honestly, Harry, you should let me finish first,” she replies back. And then she gives him a giggle when she notices the look of shock on his face. She continues,

“It's just something to symbolize your bravery, and our friendship.”

He looks at her with a bemused expression. He still doesn't understand. She gives a sigh, and a chuckle. Finally, after a couple of seconds she says,

“All right, we can make that a pact. That will symbolize our promise to save each other the next time we get in trouble. Is that better?”

“That's better, that's so much better,” he replies.

*******

-->

3. Dare # 1

Chapter 2: Dare # 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Once again, thanks for the reviews! It really astounded me when I checked my review box tonight with the number of reviews. Keep them coming! I really appreciate it! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! Oh, and I'm going slowly, I really want to develop the relationship between them because it's the foundation for the whole thing anyway.

The dares started out innocently enough. We were eleven, we laughed at the words `fanny' and `balls', which in itself explained that we weren't schooled in the ways of the world. Or so I like to think. Anyway, despite the fact that I may not be as innocent as I make myself out to be, the fact that remains is that we were young. Our dares didn't transcend to the levels that it eventually became. It was innocent; we were innocent. And that first dare, in particular, embodied the innocence, the childishness, of the whole thing despite the fact that Malfoy, and his bloody arse, might beg to differ.

You see, as fate would have it, Draco Malfoy has to exist, much to my dismay. But, like Voldemort, he served a greater purpose as well. If not for the mere absurdity of his existence, the whole game would not come into existence. Malfoy just had to be a bloody arse, literally and figuratively, and that, well that explained everything else that was to follow.

But before that, let me say this first, despite the fact that it was satisfying enough, it didn't fulfill any repressed need.

Let me reiterate that, I do not have any repressed urges.

*******

“Oh that Malfoy, I hope he dies, I hope he dies a painful and dangerous death. I hope that dragons trample him and then feed him to their young,” she mumbles viciously under her breath. He hears her nevertheless. He finds it both amusing and surprising that she can be so spiteful and so guilt-stricken at the same time. The look on her face, brows in a furrow, but eyes in a glaze, shows the dissonance within her.

A few moments ago, Malfoy humiliated her in the middle of their Potions class by setting her hair on fire. Snape grudgingly diffused it. And while all Malfoy received was a warning and a precaution on the dangers of certain potions, Hermione received a warning and detention for `failing to comply with classroom regulations'. Gryffindor also lost 50 points. Harry and Ron were ready to jump in her defense, but she gave them that look and they stopped immediately. He felt the constant urge to lash out to his professor throughout class however.

“Dare me and I'll do that, I'll feed him to Norbert,” he jokes as they make their way to the Great Hall to meet Ron. Hermione immediately widens her eyes when he mentions the name, `Norbert.'

He gives her a sheepish smile. They aren't supposed to talk about that, lest Hagrid gets caught for harboring such a creature.

“Anyway, Malfoy will get what he deserves, you'll see,” he changes the subject. She gives a sigh, a disappointed sigh.

“I really hope so, but Snape favors him so.”

“Well Snape is not the only professor, you know,” he corrects her. She shrugs her shoulder, disappointment still in her face, and says,

“He wouldn't try anything in front of the others.”

They both remain quiet after that. He realizes that it was true. Malfoy was a coward git. He may call it self-preservation, but it was cowardice nevertheless. Anyone who strikes only when the odds are with him is a coward in his book.

And that brings him to an idea. A marvelously splendid idea that will let Malfoy get what he deserves.

He stops on his tracks and pulls out the quill Hermione gave him a month ago. For some reason, he keeps it in his pockets every single day. Nobody knows about this.

“Why?” She asks, confusion in her eyes.

“Here,” he replies as he gives her the quill. She looks at him, and then the quill, with confusion.

“Why are you giving back the quill I gave you?” She asks, disappointment apparent in her voice. He immediately corrects her.

“No, no. You told me that the quill is a symbol for our pact right? Saving each other and all?”

She gives a nod.

“Well, I'm saving you now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dare me. Dare me to save you, ask me to do anything that'll make Malfoy regret what he's done,” he answers with much excitement. Hermione looks at him as if he was crazy.

“You're crazy,” she whispers under her breath. She immediately pockets the quill, as if she was holding a dangerous weapon.

“No, I'm not. It's just a dare, Hermione. It'll be for fun, besides, don't you think he deserves it?”

She looks at him with a perplexed expression. He can feel the dissonance within her again.

“Well, what's the quill for?” She asks.

“Well, it's supposed to symbolize the pact right? And now I'll be `saving' you, or avenging your humiliation or whatever.”

“Avenging my humiliation???” She asks aghast. He immediately detracts.

“Well, not avenging, avenging, but you know what I mean.”

“No Harry, I honestly don't know what you mean,” she replies with a sour expression.

“All right, how about, the quill will symbolize, along with our pact, the power for one to dare another. And since it's in your possession, you now have the power to dare me to do anything, not only for revenge but also because I've hurt your feelings.”

“You do have a complex, don't you?”

“What complex?”

“Oh forget it, Harry. Honestly, I don't see the point,” she answers. She looks at him as if he's still the craziest thing in the world, but he knows that she's giving in too.

“Come on Hermione, just for fun. Fun doesn't have to have a point.”

And that is what breaks her apart. She looks around her, as if careful not to let anyone hear what she's about to say next. She says,

“All right, just for fun. But promise me we won't be doing anything criminal, all right?”

Harry couldn't contain his excitement.

“Yes, I mean no, I mean whatever, whatever you say. But this is going to be sweet revenge.”

She bursts out in a giggle and pulls out the quill from her pocket again.

“It feels sacrilegious, you know,” she says as she looks at it.

“What's that?”

“What's what?”

“Sacrilegious.”

“Honestly, read some more, Harry. Get a dictionary or something—” Knowing full well that this will lead to her monologue on the atrociousness of his study habits, he decides to change the subject, and asks her,

“So, what's the dare?”

She remains quiet for a few moments while they stand along the deserted corridors. Everyone, it seems, are in the great hall. Finally, she smiles, a devilish smile that for a second, makes him regret ever suggesting such an idea.

“Well?” He asks with dread.

“Well, since you're so pushy about the whole thing… I decided… I decided to dare you to stick your wand up Malfoy's butt!” She answers with a giggle. He doesn't notice the blush on her cheeks when she said the word `butt' as he was so busy trying to comprehend the fact that he has to stick his wand up Malfoy's bloody arse.

“What???”

“Yes, you have to stick your want up—”

“All right, all right, I get it. No need to say the name again, the image is scaring me. But, come on, does it have to be my wand?”

“Well, whose wand do you suggest?”

His mind comes to a blank. He has to stick his beloved wand up Malfoy's pasty arse.

“My wand up his pasty arse?” He asks in disbelief.

“Yes, are you backing out now???” She asks with a raised eyebrow. He sees the look on her face, “chicken” it tells him.

He takes a deep breath and says,

“Oh you watch Hermione, you just watch.”

And with that, he made his way to the Great Hall, with one intention in mind: sticking up his wand up Draco Malfoy's bloody arse.

Behind him, Hermione is repressing a giggle, to no avail.

Finally, he opens the door of the hall, his heart beating furiously at the same time. She rushes behind him, and out of delayed guilt whispers,

“You don't have to do it right now.”

He just gives her a look and then makes his way to where Malfoy was conveniently standing, his back towards Harry. He gives Hermione a wink.

Slowly, but not too slowly so as not to attract much attention, he pulls out his wand, walks a little pass Malfoy, and then sticks it. He sticks it right on the bull's eye.

“Oh bloody hell!” Malfoy screams at the top of his lungs. Everyone turns to look and he immediately removes the wand.

“Oh, sorry about that,” Harry apologizes in the sincerest of all tones. Malfoy was fuming and red to the face.

The professors all turn to look at the commotion. He manages to keep the poker face, much to his surprise, and profusely apologizes.

He glances around him and saw many curious faces, a small amount of people in hysterics (they apparently saw what happened), and one girl with the biggest of all smiles in her face. Hermione.

“You'll pay for this Potter, you bloody wank. You'll pay for this,” Malfoy mutters under his breath. Harry continues to give him that poker face before finally making his way to the Gryffindor table.

Upon taking his seat, everyone gathers around him to ask questions. He tells them that he accidentally poked his wand up Draco's arse. All the while, he can see from behind the crowd, Hermione shaking her head and laughing.

He gives her a wink and mouths to her “dare.”

Later on, they realize that they never told anyone about the game. They decide to keep it that way.

*******

-->

4. Dare # 108

Chapter 3: Dare # 108

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Once again, thanks for the reviews and please keep them coming! Anyway, sorry for the late post, I was busy with school, but here you go! Enjoy!

There was this particular dare that, I believe, triumphed over other dares when it came to the representation of the buoyancy and absurdity of our childhood, bloody big words you say, but hey, you have to thank her. Anyway, back to the point, it was the funniest dare I ever came up with, and to this day, to this very peculiar day, despite the slight discomfort of our current situation, I could not help but smile every time that mental image of her reciting those particular spells came to mind. It was hilarious and she hated, no despised me, for it. How that was resolved, well, let's just say that if it weren't for one Tom Riddle (and the fact that she was eventually petrified, which in all honesty, racked me with guilt), she wouldn't talk to me to this very day. We would probably be thousands of miles apart, and I would be married to dominatrix intent on satisfying my insatiable desires for punishment.

Oh Merlin, I did not just say that.

And I did.

Bloody hell, I do have repressed desires.

BUT, nevertheless, and furthermore, the point was that our little game continued to the next year. It continued for no particular reason except for the fact that it was, as it seemed then, terribly fun. And as it continued, so did our secrecy over the game. It remained a secret, and no one knew about it. Impossible as it may sound, that was the case. How did we manage to do it? Well, it's not very easy to explain, other than the fact that there were other things at play - things that were incomprehensible to us during that time. It was, you see, about power and control.

These two very adult ideas managed to manifest themselves over our innocent young minds. We didn't understand it at the time, of course, but over time, as we continued playing and playing, we soon came to the realization that yes, it was about power and control. We were kids who had no control over our situations - I had a murderous bastard after me, after all - and that game provided us an outlet to take control, to gain power over things.

And yet, to us, it was perfectly innocent.

It was perfectly innocent not only because we were young, but because, love was there too. It was always there, only, it took us so long to realize its existence.

But we were kids at the beginning, and that was forgivable.

*******

“Don't you think we should stop the game, Harry?” She asks, hesitantly, as she stares at the boy before her. The expression on his face - eyes glistening, lips curling - as he holds the quill, the quill that can either punish or reward her, depending on the situation, is enough to make her call the whole thing off.

She looks at him again, pleadingly, but he just shrugs his shoulders.

“Oh honestly, Harry, just tell me the dare then or I swear, I'll stop playing this game with you!” She states somewhat hysterically. He gives her a sheepish smile. He notices that her hair seems frizzier than usual.

“All right, all right. Come on, Hermione, it's only for fun. We've been doing this for a while now so don't get your knickers in a twist—”

“DON'T GET MY WHAT IN A WHAT???”

He immediately backs down, realizing that he no longer holds the upper hand, which is usually the case.

“Er, it's only an expression, Ron uses it all the time.”

“Oh yes, and Ron is the master of politeness and courtesy,” she replies sarcastically. He decides to cut the chase and head straight to the point, she's getting antsy and he doesn't need that. The dare must go on.

“OK, here's the thing, I dare you to recite these following words in class,” he tells her as he grabs a piece of paper from his pockets. He hands it to her and she looks at him with disdain. She gets it nevertheless.

The expression on her face turns from disdain to apprehension to disbelief. He waits for her to say something, but the expression on her face, it seems, is enough. He cannot help but laugh.

She immediately turns her eyes away from the paper and looks at him with great contempt. He still manages to smile sheepishly.

“You better watch out Harry, I swear, you better watch out. You'll regret the day you asked me to do this,” she mutters under breath as she once again reviews each and every word in the list.

“Come on, it's going to be fun. Besides, it's Professor Flitwick we're talking about here, I doubt he even knows what those words mean.”

“You know what, I am really surprised with your creativity, if only you would exert such effort with your assignments,” she mutters under gritted teeth.

“Stop being grouchy Hermione, don't you remember? You made me kiss, Mrs. Norris,” he reminds her.

The viciousness is suddenly replaced by a small smile. He thanks Merlin for the change.

“That's bestiality, Hermione, bestiality. And do you know what that bloody cat tastes like? You don't want to know. Still, I did it, for the sake of the game,” he continues when she starts to giggle.

“That wasn't bestiality!” She exclaims, matter-of-factly.

“Well what is bestiality then?” He asks. She begins to blush, but the bell rings.

“All right, here we go,” she mutters under her breath, apprehensively.

He rubs his hands together and she rolls her eyes.

********

“Now, as I mentioned, we are having a review for tomorrow's exam. I pray that you reviewed and listed some spells to share in class today?”

The whole class all nod in agreement, Professor Flitwick then claps his hands together, and says,

“Very well, let us begin. Can anyone give me five spells to start off?”

To no one's surprise, Hermione raises her hand. But this time, before she speaks, she turns to her seatmate and gives him a daring wink. Harry shakes his head and quietly tells her,

“Dare.”

She shrugs her shoulders in reply, and then recites,

“Weenie Longevitus.” She gives a short pause, and the class erupts in laughter as Professor Flitwick scans over his notes to check whether there is such a spell.

“Petrificus Dickilus,”she continues. Professor Flitwick once again rummages his notes, to no avail.

The class continues on laughing, both at the made-up spells and the fact that the professor doesn't get the joke.

“Engorgio Titties, Cuntilificus Noballus, and Boob Keboob,” she finishes with zest. Harry stares at her in disbelief. He cannot fathom the fact that she did it with such aplomb.

Another thing he cannot believe was that the poor professor still couldn't understand the joke. Instead, he shrugs of the laughter, tells the class that he has to check on those spells but believes that “miss Granger is an excellent student and I do not doubt the existence of such spells.”

The whole class just erupts to even greater laughter.

*******

That episode was hilarious. Sure, she hated me afterwards since everyone called her “the perv” afterwards. But the hilarity of the situation atoned for it, although I wouldn't admit that to her. But, despite the hilarity of the situation, there was, however, an irony that lurked behind the surface as well. Sure, the whole thing was funny, but at the same time, it reminded me of a time when we were young and carefree, clichéd as that may sound. Many years later, I would go back again and again to that episode just to cheer myself up, just to provide myself a brief moment of laughter before I face the bleakness of my existence. It was a period of innocence, and what followed was anything but.

And it was for that reason that I cherish this dare. It represented the childhood that we would eventually leave behind.

-->

5. Dare # 420

Chapter 4: Dare # 420

The year we turned fifteen was one of the most complicated times of our lives. Not only did we, as many clichéd a quote often say, experienced the “pangs of adolescence,” but other moments, peculiar and unique to us and us alone (since I'm Harry Bloody Potter) further exacerbated the situation. Case in point, Sirius Black, the Veil, & the rebirth- a bloody mystery novel to innocent ears today. Nevertheless, the point was that it was a period of confusion. We were kids and yet we were no longer children. We were innocent and yet we spoke of murder and dreamt of betrayal. We were one thing, and yet we were another. We were friends, the best of friends, and we were, as we later on learned, much more than friends. It was incomprehensible at that time, but when we tried to push that line, that one line that divided friends from something much more, we experienced this particular feeling, this particular something, and it would haunt us again and again and again.

In fact, it would haunt us forever. It would haunt us, engulf us, destroy us, and then redeem us. It would keep us together and tear us apart. And on the final day, when everything would end, and the world, as we know it, would reach its pinnacle and give up on us, it would redeem us once again.

And then we would laugh. And cry. And we would realize that it's over and we're together. Forever.

But before all that, before all the destruction and eventual redemption, there was that slow walk. That slow walk to the peak, that slow flirtation, that slow dance of mating that started innocently enough.

We would flirt with incomprehensible things that would later on slap us back on our faces because we were unsatisfied. But of course we never saw it that way, at the time. All we thought about was that we were young and we were curious.

It was brief. It was nothing particularly special. But we were marked forever afterwards.

We crossed the line.

And when you cross the line, you take your whole life with you. No buts. You take your whole life with you like an excess baggage and a necessity at the same time.

That was the consequence.

But you ask me the question, and I tell you no - no, I do not regret it.

I never, once in my life, regretted it. I cannot answer for her of course, but in my book, I never once regretted it or anything else for the matter.

Except of course the fact that I never told her sooner.

*******

She stares at him with the most perplexed gaze, a cross between nervousness and curiosity. And he notices this, he notices this because every two minutes or so, her eyes will inch towards his face, for the briefest of all seconds, before it returns to her favorite book: Hogwarts, A History. He ignores it at first, he pretends to busy himself with his Divination homework, but after the fiftieth time, he breaks the silence.

“What?” He asks, with a hint of annoyance. She looks at him with confusion and then guilt. He waits for her to answer, but she just wrinkles her forehead and continues with her reading.

He notices her eyes are not moving.

She's testing his patience, that's for sure. He's not in the friendliest of all moods at the moment, everyone still considers him a raging lunatic while the vilest of all their professors has taken a particular interest in him. He's just come back from detention and he's not particularly happy about that.

“What is it, Hermione?” He asks again, anger building up rapidly inside him. She notices this and she gives a sigh.

“Nothing, I was just thinking,” she replies as a finger caresses the middle parting of her book.

He gives out a snort. She looks at him with that same perplexed gaze again.

“I wouldn't call that thinking,” he replies sarcastically. She bites the bottom of her lip. He continues,

“It's one thing for those bloody Ravenclaws to gawk, but it's completely different when it's your supposed best friend doing it. Just tell me it to me straight, I know you think that I'm such a bloody lunatic.”

And with that, he throws a quill on the floor. It rolls towards her.

It was `their' quill.

She bends down, and picks it up. She notices that her hands are shaking. She stares at it for a brief second while her friend tries to calm himself down.

And then she takes a deep breath.

She looks at him again, painstakingly with a straight face, and asks him,

“Have you ever been kissed?”

That completely catches him off guard. He struggles for an answer for a few seconds, before he turns completely silent.

She can feel her cheeks burning, and for a second, regrets asking the question. But then she hears him give a sigh, and says,

“No. Not in that way.”

She nods her head. And then she picks up her book again, and opens it. She pretends to read but he can feel his gaze. Her heart is still beating rapidly.

“Is that it?” He asks, curtly, after a lengthy and very much uncomfortable silence.

She pretends not to hear him, but he stares at her with such intensity. She closes her book, closes her eyes, and blocks out everything around her for one brief moment, and when she finally opens her eyes, determination fills her.

“No, that's not it,” she finally replies. She waits for him to retort, to say anything, but he doesn't. So she continues,

“The other night, Parvati and Lavander were talking about kissing. Honestly, it was really shallow. But then they asked me if I've kissed anyone, and I told them that…”

She stops. For some reason, she finds it difficult to admit that she's never been kissed. And she knows the reason why. The reason is because she's the best in everything and yet, in situations such as these, she was clueless.

Harry nods his head, in understanding. He doesn't really know what to say. These conversations strike an uncomfortable chord in him.

Finally, after another period of silence, she shrugs her shoulders and returns to her readings. But she can't concentrate. She can't concentrate because the quill, `their' quill, is glistening against the fire.

She picks it up, and the feeling intensifies even more. She glances at her friend again, and notices that he's looking at the quill too.

“When was the last time we dared each other?” He asks in all seriousness. He feels off, and he's thinking that maybe, just maybe, a dare might help lighten up the situation. Like they did before. He cannot help but remember the thought of Hermione writing and sending a love letter to Sirius (and Sirius' subsequent reaction: oh bloody hell, I didn't know I still have it, but Hermione dear, I'm too old for you, I'll be on my rocker and then you'll leave me!) on a dare.

That brings a smile on his face and she notices this.

“What are you smiling at?” She asks, with an expression of bemusement. He shakes his head but the smile intensifies.

“Oh honestly, Harry, it's that love letter from last month isn't it???” She asks, crossly. He nods his head and she throws the quill at him. He catches it immediately.

“Seeker reflexes,” he boasts as she rolls her eyes.

“You should dare me,” he continues as he plays with the quill between his two fingers.

He waits for her to reply, to retort, but she doesn't. So he looks at her, and when he does, the expression on her face surprises him. She looks at him with that same perplexed gaze, but this time, there's something else quite incomprehensible to him. And when she notices that he's staring at her, she immediately looks down, her cheeks burning.

“What is it?” He asks, in confusion.

She just shakes her head and stares at the floor below her.

“I don't believe you,” he states quietly. The cackle of the fire, he notices, is much louder this time.

She gives a sigh, she closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, she says,

“It's stupid.”

He waits for her to continue, but she doesn't. So he asks,

“What is?”

She takes a deep breath again, and she says,

“Give me the quill.” He hands it to her, an expression of confusion, bemusement, and expectancy on his face.

When she takes it, she holds it in her hands for a few seconds, and then finally, she says,

“I dare you to kiss me.”

He looks at her, first blankly, unable to comprehend what he just heard. But then it registers, and a look of shock envelopes his face. He notices that she's all red in the face.

“You don't have to,” she says hurriedly, embarrassment evident in her voice.

“You want me to kiss you?” He asks, with a bit of confusion, but expectancy thick on his voice.

She looks down, and then nods her head.

“Well, if I do that, it's going to be our first kiss…” He continues.

She nods her head again. She can hear his heart beating and he can hear hers.

“You don't have to do it,” she says again. But he does not hear her. He says,

“Do you want me to be your first kiss?”

This time, she looks at him, really looks at him. This time, she sees a boy with the same vulnerability, and the same nervousness. That gives her courage. She looks at him in the eye, and says,

“Yes, I want you to be my first kiss.”

He swallows hard, and then nods his head.

“This, this won't ruin anything right?” He asks. She gives a small smile, and replies,

“It's only a kiss between two curious friends, Harry.”

He nods his head, and then he says,

“OK.”

This time, she's shaking again.

“We're still friends Harry, aren't we? I mean, after we do this…”

“You said that yourself,” he replies.

She nods her head.

“All right, we'll only do this briefly. Just a couple of seconds and that's it, just to get a feel of it, you know,” she explains, in between gulps.

He nods his head.

“OK, let's count to three,” he suggests.

“One,” she states.

They move closer.

“Two,” he replies.

They slowly close the gap between them until their noses are touching. They gaze into each other's eyes.

A couple of seconds pass by.

“Say it,” he tells her.

“No, you say it,” she replies.

“Come on, just say the number,” he commands.

“You say it,” she commands back.

“Hermione!”

“Harry!”

“Just say it!”

“Oh honestly, Harry, it's just a number!”

“Then why don't you say it???”

Immediately, they both pull back. She crosses her arms and he shakes his head.

“That went well,” she retorts.

He gives out a snort, and then says,

“Bloody hell, it was just a number!”

“Then why don't you say it then?”

“All right, three. Happy?”

She rolls her eyes, and mutters,

“Now you say it.”

“Oh, why don't you say it then?” He asks, competitively. She gazes at him with a challenging expression, and says,

“Three.”

Immediately, he presses his lips against hers, and, for eternity or for ten seconds, they sit there, not moving.

And then they break apart, both unable to look at each other.

They remain silent for the longest of all moments, but then she decides to break the silence, and says,

“Oh honestly, it's not that special.”

He nods in agreement.

“It felt funny,” he replies. She bursts into a giggle, and he finds himself laughing along with her.

“Well, now we experienced our first kiss,” she says.

“We're late though, relative to other people. I bet you those first years have gone to third base already, we have something to beat!” He says teasingly. She erupts in greater laughter.

“Hah, we're not doing that!” She retorts finally.

“Oh, you'll see,” he retorts back.

And with that, they gathered their things, and returned to their rooms, amidst the sounds of each other's laughter.

*******

That was our first kiss. It was innocent, really innocent. But that night, while I twisted and turned in bed, I could not help but replay that moment again and again in my mind. It was not like I liked her “that” way during that particular stage of our lives (or maybe I did, but that would lead to another far-reaching argument), but that kiss certainly brought a new consciousness in me. It was unexplainable, it was incomprehensible, but it was there.

We never talked about it again, although, we both thought about it. I know I did, and I know she did. I knew she did because when I told Ron and her about my kiss with Cho, the reaction was that of discomfort, not of indifference, and definitely not of curiosity. And when I stated that I was probably a “terrible kisser,” her reply reaffirmed the truth to me.

Ron's suspicions that night really had a basis of truth in it. Only, we decided not to talk about it.

We decided to forget it.

But we couldn't.

-->